


Not The Asking Type

by Mackem



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James doesn't usually write a Christmas list. He doesn't think he'd get what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not The Asking Type

Jeremy Clarkson did not make the most… _appropriate_ Father Christmas. 

 

Still, his party, his rules, and James wasn’t about to make a fuss. He hadn’t organised the Top Gear Christmas After-Show Party Extravaganza 2008 (Jeremy had named it, too) and was perfectly happy to see Jeremy dress up stupidly if he fancied it. James personally couldn’t see the appeal, finding fancy dress to be along the lines of “forced jollity” but he could well understand why Clarkson would do it. Being Santa at a Christmas party was tantamount to shouting, “everybody look at _me!_ ” after all. Very Jeremy.

 

The shindig was in full swing when Clarkson burst in with an impressive, “Ho ho ho!” Hordes of drunken staff raised their glasses in cheer as Jeremy began distributing bottles of champagne from his sack. James was content to hang back with a bottle of ale; watching Clarkson togged out in the red suit, the floppy hat and the daft beard was entertaining enough without being dragged in to the joke. Hammond, on the other hand, had zeroed in on him to mock and was now protesting every time Father Clark-mas referred to him as an elf. 

 

James, somewhat to his surprise, had found all the revelry rather pleasant. Naturally withdrawn by nature he had expected to feel something of an outcast, left alone to drift among cheery workmates enjoying their time together. He did not think himself particularly suited to _any_ social situation, let alone Christmas parties, but he really had enjoyed himself. It was nice to see everyone he worked with letting their hair down, with no thought to budgets, deadlines, or health and fucking safety.

 

The party was stumbling to a finish. Stifling a yawn, James found his attention caught by a frantic movement from across the hall. Squinting revealed Jeremy, waving a pack of cigarettes at him and pointedly gesturing toward their small office. James nodded shortly and struggled through the crowd, too polite to shove despite the erratic movements of the revellers. When he made it to the office he found Jeremy dropping gratefully onto a couch.

 

“I don’t know how the hell the beardy-weirdys manage it,” he groaned, tugging the beard off with a great display of relief. “No wonder they’re all lunatics. Their facial hair is driving them mental. Room for one more on Santa’s knee,” he offered, patting his ample lap encouragingly. James chuckled and settled in an armchair.

 

“Not sure I’d fit, with that spread of yours.”

 

“Captain Horrid returns!” Jeremy protested with a glance down at his stomach. “You do know you’re in much the same boat?”

 

“A boat which is rapidly taking on water, given the weight of our combined flab. Of course I know,” James smiled. “That’s why I’m allowed to make fun. That, and I don’t accentuate the problem with skin-tight jeans, you dolt.”

 

“He _is_ a dolt. Why is he a dolt?” Richard bounded into the office after them, depressingly bright-eyed and sober given the hour. Thirty-eight or otherwise, Richard had reserves of energy that James and Jeremy could only envy.

 

“Why _isn’t_ he?” challenged James. He finished his ale as Richard laughed and Jeremy feigned huffiness. They could each spot a real Clarkson huff from a mile off, from the sniped insults to the endless monologue of grousing. Hammond in a huff was _never_ a mile off, always managing to get in everyone’s face with clenched jaw and furiously shining eyes, venting with exhilarating vigour. James, used to bottling up and turning inward, found it irresistible. Thank god they baited each other so often.

 

“You two,” Jeremy grunted, “Are getting too keen with the Christmas rows. Men aren’t supposed to row with each other at Christmas, we’re supposed to save it all for our wives.”

 

“I don’t have a wife,” shrugged James. “Maybe I’m saving it up for you two.”

 

“Oh, how depressing!” Richard grinned impishly. “We’re the closest thing James May has to a wife!”

 

“James already has a wife,” Jeremy countered, gesturing to Richard with a fist full of beard. “You’re forgetting Oz Clark.” James sighed. This conversation was becoming depressingly common after his summer caravanning with the critic. Why had he ever allowed his idiot co-presenters to wriggle his secret from him?

 

“Oz Clark!” Richard groaned. “You’re wrong, I didn’t forget. I tried to block the images out. Now you’ve gone and brought it all back to me. I’ll have nightmares!”

 

“Nightmares about James and Oz, naked and writhing together. In a _caravan_.” Clarkson aimed a particularly incredulous look at James as Hammond gave a theatrical shudder.

 

“If you find the idea so disgusting, perhaps we’d all be better off moving on?” James spoke quietly, his eyes narrowed just a little. “Need I remind you that you found out in August, and you haven’t let go of the subject yet? It’s a little tired by now.”

 

“So am I, after all the nightmares,” Hammond grinned. “ _Really_ , mate, what were you thinking? Were you really _so_ desperate that shagging Oz Clark seemed like a good idea?” James whetted his dry lips and managed a smile.

 

“A man takes what he can find. And you don’t know Oz,” he pointed out. “Not once have either of you met him. He has his charms, when you get to know him.”

 

“ _Don’t_ make me picture you getting to know him,” groaned Jeremy. “Honestly, James, Oz? You can do better, mate.”

 

“Of course I can.”

 

“You can! Better than an ancient, pompous, balding, insufferable –“

 

“ –All _right_! I understand! You don’t approve of Oz! I’m terribly sorry, but there was nobody else offering!” James snapped. Jeremy and Richard swapped a surprised glance, one James could easily divine the meaning of. He was rarely this animated; this voice was usually reserved for times when they purposefully messed up his tool box. Hearing him open up about his personal life was…well. Unheard of. “You’ll be glad to know he hasn’t asked for anything since, so I won’t be shagging him again!”

 

There was a strained pause. Then…

 

“Good,” Jeremy announced. Richard groaned, apparently seeing the brief flicker of hurt in James’ face before he managed to hide it.

 

“Wrong thing to say,” he hissed at Clarkson. “James, mate –“

 

“ –No, I mean it,” Jeremy said forcefully. The taller man raised an eyebrow at James as he hunched lower in his seat, anxiously trying to think of a way to escape the conversation. “It _is_ good you won’t be shagging him again, because you _can_ do better. What do you mean, there aren’t any other offers? You don’t have to wait for offers,” he murmured awkwardly. “You could. Ask.” He looked pointedly at Richard, some communication passing between them as James frowned in confusion. Hammond nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face.

 

“You could, y’know. Asking is all it would take,” he said softly, those big brown eyes fixing to James. James shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders tense as he began to follow their meaning.

 

“I’m not really…the asking type,” he murmured with a tight shrug. “Not when just asking would affect so much, never mind the answer. It…would be an unfair question. Anyway, I don’t even write a Christmas list,” he joked lightly, wanting out, wanting this to be over. “I always know I’ll end up with new jumpers anyway. No need to bother people by asking for things I won’t get.”

 

“You don’t need a Christmas list with Father Christmas around,” Clarkson beamed. He patted his lap once more. “Come on, May. Father Christmas always knows what presents you want. No need to ask,” he said lightly. “ _I’m_ asking _you._ And I already know you’ve been a good boy.”James laughed softly, his cheeks red as Jeremy stroked his own thighs.

 

“I’ve already told you once, I’m not sitting on your knee, you oaf. I’m in my forties. I’d like to think I have _some_ dignity, even if the evidence suggests otherwise.” Jeremy nodded thoughtfully.

 

“Right. Actually, you’ve been _such_ an insufferably good boy that anything you ask for would be tedious. You need to learn to be a little naughtier,” he smirked. He looked to Richard once more, effortlessly adopting a filthy tone as he delivered his orders. “Hammond. You’re an elf, and elves have to listen to Santa, so go and sit on Slow’s knee.” Richard grinned with Jeremy’s words.

 

“What on Earth -!” spluttered James, but he had scant time to protest before Hammond bounced across the room. James tried to stand but found small hands restraining his shoulders.

 

“I hate to say it,” Richard murmured softly with what James thought could only be an elfin grin. “But Jezza’s right. If you won’t ask, we’ll offer. Spirit of giving and all,” he finished as he carefully straddled James’ lap. He pressed close, wriggling to get himself comfortable as James stuttered and squirmed. Small as he was Hammond barely fit in his lap and James found himself stuck, held in place firmly as Richard steadied himself with hands on his upper arms.

 

“Richard,” he tried desperately, his voice weak as Hammond assailed his senses; the smell of his aftershave and all that girly hair stuff, the lithe movement in his lap, the sight of those eyes and lips so close. “Please. You don’t –“

 

“ –I do,” Hammond assured him, and cut him off by pressing their lips together. James felt himself giving in immediately, helpless not to against this onslaught. Richard’s lips were chapped, no doubt irritated by the biting winter winds, and the angle as he leaned down meant that his head was tilted back awkwardly, but James loved their kiss. He closed his eyes instinctively, shyly kissing in return and trying to remember every single detail of the moment. His hands trembled as Richard pulled away suddenly, and he waited for the resultant thump, the cry of, “I was joking, you cock!”, for the end of his friendship and his job…

 

Hammond’s lips moved to his throat, and his tongue lapped wetly at his skin, and James sighed in relief. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his heart pounding, and was surprised when a second pair of lips pressed to his own. His eyes flew open, astonished as Jeremy kissed him fiercely; the taller man bent awkwardly over the chair with his hands braced against it and Hammond pressed tightly between them.

 

Jeremy’s lips were thinner than Richard’s, his skin scratchy with stubble, and James licked his lips curiously at his taste. Their eyes met when Jeremy pulled away with a click of his joints and a groan, and James raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Not going to let the elf have all the fun, am I?” Jeremy shrugged in explanation.

 

“Funnier every time,” Richard drawled with rolled eyes. He sat back on James’ lap, giving him a lop-sided smile. “I don’t want to sound egotistical, but I hope that qualifies as a better offer than Oz?” James chuckled and held his hands out, one stroking Hammond’s hair and the other pulling Jeremy down beside him.

 

“Just about.”


End file.
